Garlands of stars were falling from the black sky above the palm tree and the houses. She ran along the short avenue, now empty, that led the fort. The cold, no longer needing to struggle against the sun, had invaded the night; the icy air burned her lungs. But she ran, half blind, in the darkness. [...] Running had not warmed her, she was still trembling all over. But the cold air she swalloed in gulps soon flowed steadily inside her, and a spark of warmth began to glow amidst her shivers. Her eyes opened at last on the spaces of the night.

[...] they, were not sulking, that they had shut their mouths, it was take it or leave it, and that anger and impotence sometimes caused such pain you couldn't even cry out. They were men, that's all, and they were not about to go around smiling and simpering.

[...] She was well nigh a secular saint who saw no malice in making a gift of herself to suffering humanity. But her husband insisted on being master of his wife's virtues. 'I've had enough,' this Othello said, 'of being cuckolded by the poor.'